


That Inescapable Madness

by Carrieosity



Series: Choices 'Verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Dean, Communication, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gender Roles, Healthy Relationships, Light Angst, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Rutting, Switching, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-16 15:39:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14814173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrieosity/pseuds/Carrieosity
Summary: They'd put so much thought into Dean's mixed feelings about his secondary gender, but when the first signs of trouble appeared, they came from a completely different direction. As it turns out, biology-related baggage isn't limited to one end of the spectrum.(Or: Cas's rut is approaching, for the first time since they mated.)





	1. Must Be Something He Has Hidden

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this has been a much-demanded subject since I posted Grown-Up Choices. Heat sex! Rut sex! And I definitely am on board! But...well, I was really wary of disrupting what I set up in the main fic: the conscious, thoughtful approach toward healthy communication and self-awareness. We left Dean and Cas in a really good place, but love and sex are not magic fix-alls, right?
> 
> I'd also been thinking about how gender stereotypes can hurt both ways. I've become a lot more conscious of that fact since becoming a mom to a couple of sons, and I've done what I can to translate some of the concerns I've had about the subject into this universe. So, yeah, it's not quite the porny sort of rut fic people might have been expecting, but I think it fits better.

“You’re not getting out of this, Winchester. I know you’re all _mature_ and shit lately, too sophisticated for us or something now that you’re mated to Lawyer Boy, but this is tradition, damn it.”

Dean winced. “Not like that, Jo, I swear,” he protested. “You know I love all you guys. Still the same guy I’ve always been, and, God’s truth, when I tell Cas about it, he’s probably going to be more into it than any of us. You’ve seen him shoot pool, right? Games of any kind get him freaky competitive.” Recalling their ongoing rivalry over whose initials graced the Top Scores board of the Mortal Kombat machine in the Gas ‘n Sip down the block, he grinned sheepishly.

“You didn’t tell him yet? Dean!” Jo’s voice was piercing through the cell phone cradled between Dean’s shoulder and ear. He dropped the ladle into the pot he’d been stirring so that he could pull the phone away from his head and save his hearing. “If he’s coming too, we need to get forms for him! The paintball place wants all that in advance! I swear…”

“Okay, okay, I got it.” He put the phone on the counter, turning on the speaker, so he could use both his hands to start chopping chicken breasts. “We’ve got a whole week before the event. No need to panic.”

Jo made a noise of irritation. He could almost see her tossing her hair and rolling her eyes. “You haven’t even come to a karaoke night in two months. What’s that thing lawyers say? ‘Goes to pattern’?”

“You’re never going to stop with the lawyer jokes, are you?” Dean sighed.

“That depends. Are you two going to come to Happy Hour this weekend, or will Cas be too busy going through your briefs?”

Groaning loudly, Dean tapped the button to unceremoniously end the call. Then he quickly fired off a text telling Jo that she’d better have better material than that by tomorrow night, or she could buy her own shots.

_My mom owns the bar, dumbass,_ read the immediate reply.

_And does she know about you and Meg and the bottle of top-shelf Patron you guys used for body shots?_ Dean chuckled when his phone stayed silent after that; it was as good as a white flag of surrender for now, though he knew she’d find her revenge at some point.

When the front door creaked open half an hour later, the house was already full of tantalizing aromas. “Dean?” Castiel’s tired voice called. “You’re here?” It wasn’t a huge surprise. The Impala sitting out front would have been the first tip-off that he was waiting inside for Cas, which wasn’t an uncommon event in any case. Technically, Dean still had his own house, but it had been on the market for a month and there were a few hints of potential bids in the works. Cas had given Dean a key to his own house as soon as they’d decided which property to sell and which to keep.

The unusual part of the evening wasn’t that Dean was there, but that he’d been there long enough to set the kind of stage he had. The stereo was playing _Kind of Blue_ , because Cas had finally gotten Dean to concede that Miles Davis was pretty amazing. (He was less convinced about Coltrane, but Cas didn’t lack for determination.) Dean had even straightened up the clutter in the living room, hoping it would help the relaxing mood; the only thing on the coffee table now were two glasses and a bucket with some sparkling wine chilling in it. Finally, there was the dinner almost ready to be served, and he was damn proud of that part.

Cas entered the kitchen with a puzzled look on his face. “What’s all this?” he said, drifting closer to the stove. Dean sidled close to him, planting a kiss on his cheekbone as he wrapped one arm around his waist.

“Got my work done early, so I thought I’d do something nice,” he said. Castiel gave him a look out of the corner of his eye that conveyed gentle skepticism, and Dean laughed as he shrugged. “Okay, so I worked like a fiend all morning so that I could get done early, because I’d already planned all this in my head. Wanted to surprise you, since you’ve been stressed lately.” It was a massive understatement, calling Cas stressed. Dean had watched with concern as the circles grew and darkened under his eyes, and it was impossible to miss how Cas’s usual coma-deep sleep habits had shifted into nights of tangled sheets—and not in the fun way. He’d gently brushed off Dean’s questions about what was going on, which probably meant it was something at work they weren’t allowed to discuss, so Dean had decided to focus on treating the symptoms instead.

Cas sighed and sagged against Dean’s side, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. It’s been…difficult lately, but I didn’t mean for any of my mood to touch you.”

“Nope, none of that,” Dean immediately cut in. “What do you always tell me when I start feeling guilty about all my baggage, not wanting to put it on you? We’re a team, and that means having each other’s backs, even when I’m being too stubborn to admit I need it. You gonna be stubborn now, too?”

“No, I suppose not,” Cas conceded with a small smile. “All right, I’ll leave off the apologies and simply say thank you. This looks and smells amazing.”

“See, I’m taking another page out of your book. Remember how you talk about spicy food cheering people up? Turns out that turmeric and saffron are also supposed to be pretty good at that, so I found this recipe for a spicy coconut curry sauce. I’ve got chicken simmering in it, and it’s actually pretty healthy. Coconut’s good fat, right?” Dean stirred the curry a few times, then lifted the spoon to let Cas taste it. Swallowing, Cas’s eyes widened and his face seemed to radiate sudden bliss.

“Oh, my God, Dean. I don’t care if you tell me I’ll die of a heart attack next week from the fat. I’ll still be asking for seconds. Are these our chilis?” He hastily grabbed for the spoon, trying to get another taste.

Dean laughed, surrendering his place by the stove to grab the plates from the cupboard. “Nope, I got some dried ones from the fancy grocery place where I picked up the ginger paste and the fresh coconut. Bhava-something. Good, right?”

“Bhavnagari,” Castiel said, pleased. “I haven’t grown those, but we can get some for next season. I like the tanginess.”

Dean plated them each a healthy portion of the curry, earning another noise of surprise and pleasure when he opened the oven and removed a tray with flatbreads being kept warm. “Don’t get too impressed,” he cautioned. “These are store bought.”

“I’m impressed by the care you’ve taken with this entire meal,” Cas argued fondly. “It’s incredibly thoughtful.”

“Well, you bring out the mushy side of me,” Dean said, biting his lip and flushing a little under the praise. “Love you.” He stepped into Castiel’s waiting arms, promptly pulled tight against his mate’s body and enveloped in a heady scent of contentment that almost completely overrode the smell of the curry.

“So,” he said when they finally broke apart with goofy grins on their faces, “I figured we could eat out in the living room, maybe watch a movie after? Only if you want. I’m up for whatever.” _Especially if “whatever” involves being horizontal and naked._ Dean was determined not to overtly pressure Cas, who might prefer to relax and cuddle instead of anything more strenuous, so he bit back his innuendo.

“Maybe,” Cas replied thoughtfully. He had a considering look in his eye as he picked up the plates to carry them to the coffee table. “I’m not sure I’ll make it through an entire movie, sitting next to you when you’re smelling like that. If this curry didn’t look so damn delicious, I’d probably skip dinner entirely, bend you over the couch, and have your perfect ass for dinner instead.”

“Cas!” Dean gasped. He almost stumbled, feeling an almost violent surge of arousal at the unexpectedly lewd remark. It was a good thing he hadn’t been carrying the dishes; as it was, he nearly fumbled the platter of bread. “Holy shit, warn a guy.”

“I’m…” Cas was blushing now, as though it hadn’t been him who’d gone from zero to sixty in the twenty feet between the kitchen and living room. He’d frozen in place, staring at Dean. “That was ridiculously crude. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, not complaining!” Dean said hurriedly. “Well, I mean, other than warning you that if you make me drop the naan because my dick’s too hard for me to walk straight, you’ll have to settle for sandwich bread instead.”

Cas cleared his throat, still beet red. “Well,” he said, letting the thought trail away without a conclusion. He put the plates on the table and dropped to the couch, running a hand over his eyes, taking a calming breath.

Dean bit at his lip to hide his smile. “You know, it’s been almost a week,” he said as he sat down beside Cas. “You’ve been pretty distracted, working late. Maybe you need something besides curry to destress? Just saying, I’m totally here for you in that way, too.” He took Cas’s hand in his own, squeezing it gently and running his thumb over the back. “Whatever you need. I mean it.”

Castiel didn’t immediately reply, instead simply gazing at their joined hands in contemplative silence. “I really don’t know what I ever did to deserve you in my life,” he said. “Honestly, it’s a mystery.”

With his free hand, Dean broke off a piece of bread and held it out for Cas to bite. “I’m not examining fate’s motivations too closely, myself,” he teased. “Bon appetit.”

The curry was delicious, and they found themselves too busy devouring it to think about talking for a while. Miles’s soulful trumpet was a backdrop to the sounds of enthusiastic dining and the occasional barely intelligible word of praise for the entire body of Indian cuisine. Both men’s faces were now flushed, from the slow build-up of heat on their tongues over the course of the meal, but their moods had eased into giddy comfort.

“Dessert?” Dean suggested when they were finally sopping up the final traces of curry with the last fragments of bread. “Not exactly fancy or foreign, but I’ve got some macadamia nut cookies that aren’t bad at all.”

“Maybe just another glass of the wine,” Cas said. Dean was more than happy to pour; he’d chosen it to accompany the food’s heat, but he wasn’t actually much of a fan himself. Most of the bottle had gone into Cas’s glass, and Dean noted with some amusement that Cas was beginning to show some signs that he was feeling the effects. _He needed it,_ Dean thought.

“How about we just put on the news, then, while you finish that up, and then we can make it an early night?” Dean suggested, not even trying to disguise the heat in his voice or the implied proposition in his words this time. Castiel’s mood was light years improved from the tense mess it had been lately. He looked mellow enough that Dean suspected even a good back rub would be enough to send him to dreamland with no regrets, but if he still needed something else, well, Dean was one hundred percent on board for that, too. Switching the television on, Dean curled into Cas’s side, appreciating the solid weight of the arm that draped around his shoulders.

The news anchors droned on, and Cas idly stroked his fingers through Dean’s hair as they watched. Dean was practically purring like a cat by the time the station broke for commercials after the weather segment. He closed his eyes, zoning out through an ad for some car dealership, then fast food burgers, and a local florist urging people not to forget flowers for Sweetest Day. “Oh, _no,_ ” the chubby middle-aged man on the TV screen groaned, slapping his own forehead as his omega wife glared “Not again!” A much younger and more handsome alpha preened in contrast, winking at the camera as his wife gasped and swooned over the roses in his hand.

Castiel growled. Dean cracked his eyelids, glancing up at his face; he was rigidly tense again, fuming at the screen. “Cas? You okay there, babe?”

“Just sick and tired of it,” Cas said quietly. Dean waited, and eventually Cas let out a huff and shook his head, relaxing a fraction. “I know it’s nothing compared to what omegas have to tolerate, in terms of how the media represents gender stereotypes. Even so, I’m sick to _death_ of being characterized as the bumbling idiot who spends most of the time thinking with his cock and acting impulsively on ill-advised macho urges. If I was a TV alpha, I’d…I’d burn down the kitchen making breakfast cereal, be unable to resist leering over omegas half my age while taking my own mate completely for granted, and should never be trusted to take care of my own pups without supervision, lest I decide to diaper them in trash bags and feed them nothing but ice cream. And it would be called ‘babysitting,’ not ‘parenting,’ of course.” He bit off the last words, slouching low against the couch cushions.

“Wow.” Dean sat in stunned amazement, listening to the tirade. Cas’s scent had gone bitter and burnt, filling Dean with an uncontrollable need to comfort and reassure him. “I don’t think that’s nothing. That actually really sucks. I’ve never really thought about it before, but that’s complete bullshit.” Mind racing, he recalled a movie he’d recently watched, indignant at the time over some of the portrayals of omegas as superficial and weak. Now that he considered it, the alpha hero had been just as shallow—more muscle than brain, repeatedly saved from disaster by the omega’s longsuffering practicality.

“Imagine being a young teen, presenting as an alpha and having _that_ held up to you as what you’ll inevitably become,” Cas grumbled. “Even the least offensive stereotypes are still bad enough. I remember when we were perhaps fourteen, Jimmy and I were promised bikes for our birthday. Jimmy really wanted a purple bike. It was his favorite color. Our uncle ridiculed the suggestion so loudly and for so long that when we finally got to the store, Jimmy insisted on the flashiest red bike they had, practically dripping testosterone. If he could have found one with a giant fake knot on the handlebars, he wouldn’t have hesitated.”

Dean frowned in sympathy. “You know I don’t buy into any of that, right? I mean, I don’t think anyone I know actually does, or at least I’ve never heard them say anything like that. But, like, the whole omegas with cars and driving stereotypes, for one thing. You wouldn’t believe how many alphas come in with barely salvageable engines, or have to be towed in with dead ones, because they didn’t bother changing the oil or even know they needed to. And I’d bet we get more of them needing body work after accidents, too.  Only fender bender I’ve ever had myself was the other guy’s fault. He was a beta.”

Rolling his eyes, Castiel grumbled, “Thank you for not bringing up the condition of my own car, when we were first getting to know each other.”

“Would have backed up your point, but you’re welcome.” Dean had started stroking Cas’s neck, running his fingers along the mating mark in an effort to soothe him. “How come you never said anything? Did you really think I wouldn’t care, or that I’d tell you to get over it or something?”

“Honestly, it’s not something I dwell on,” Cas said. “It’s the sort of thing that’s insidiously easy to overlook, an ugly background noise to which you can get so accustomed that you stop registering it in your ear. Every once in a while, though, something pushes it to the forefront.” He sounded so unhappy that Dean felt an ache in his chest.

“Well, they were wrong,” he said. “When they told you that you had to be that? It wasn’t inevitable. You are the opposite of all those stupid stereotypes, right down to how you’ve never seen me as less than your equal. God, I had to practically short-circuit you to get you to bite me, remember? And even then, you were, like, the master of self-control.”

“Hmmm,” Cas responded, moving a hand to idly rub the mating mark on Dean’s neck in return. He didn’t sound or smell soothed, and Dean sighed.

“Why don’t we go on to bed? I can skip the sports segment tonight. Barely into the preseason for football, anyway.” Cas let Dean pull him from the sofa, following half-heartedly into the bedroom, then allowed Dean to settle him on the edge of the bed. The simmering heat from earlier in the evening was dissipated, but Dean stepped close between his legs anyway, unbuttoning his shirt for him in an unhurried fashion.

Castiel ran a hand over Dean’s clothed hip, raising his eyes in mute question. Dean just smiled softly, giving his head a small shake as he worked the last button free and pushed the shirt down Cas’s arms. He placed a chaste kiss on one bared shoulder, then leaned back so they could hold each other’s eyes. “Just want to take care of you tonight, whatever you need, and I don’t even care if that sounds like an omega cliche.”

Bending forward slightly to wrap his arms around around Dean’s waist and nestle his face against his stomach, Cas exhaled heavily; the warm air tickled the skin under Dean’s shirt, raising goosebumps. “I think I just want to be close to you and hold you, if that’s all right. I know I implied earlier that—”

“Don’t worry about that,” Dean reassured him without hesitating. “Be right back, as soon as I take care of the mess.” Cas made a grumbling sound as Dean gently freed himself from the embrace, but he didn’t resist, flopping backward on the bed with a huff.

Later that night, snuggled close and held in place with a firm hug and a leg thrown over his own, Dean remembered that he’d forgotten to bring up the paintball weekend. The tiny snores puffing at the back of his neck told him he’d have to wait until tomorrow. He hoped Jo wouldn’t explode before then.

\---

Dean woke up shivering slightly. The empty spot behind him on the mattress was devoid of body heat, making it clear that Castiel had been up for a while. Dean glanced at the clock on the bedside table and frowned; it wasn’t even five-thirty yet. Even if Cas had wanted to get up early for a run and hadn’t wanted to disturb him, it was still way too early for him to lace up and go.

“Cas?” he called, voice sleep roughened. When he got no reply, he pulled himself out of the bed and went to investigate. The house was indeed empty, though Cas’s car was still in the driveway. His phone sat charging on the counter beside his wallet. Glancing around, Dean noticed that the kitchen had been straightened and cleaned; before he had come to bed, he’d done a quick job of getting the dishes into the washer and the cookware rinsed and into the sink, but now everything was scrubbed and put away in cupboards and drawers. _Just how long has he been up?_

With no further clues to solve the mystery, Dean started a pot of coffee brewing before hopping in the shower. Castiel still wasn’t back by the time he was dressed, so he grabbed some eggs and bacon from the fridge, figuring—hoping—he’d at least be home in time to have breakfast before work.

Just when Dean was beginning to grow truly concerned, he heard thumping on the back porch, signaling Cas’s arrival. Glancing through the window, Dean saw his mate lean heavily on the rail, stretching his quad muscles by pulling his ankle upwards behind him. Every inch of his clothing was drenched with sweat, and there were white rings of salt on his shirt. He looked completely exhausted.  

Moving to the back door and opening it, Dean whistled low. “Sign up for a marathon on a whim?” he asked. “What did you do to yourself?”

“Perhaps I overdid it a bit,” Cas conceded, dropping his leg and rolling his shoulders. “It wasn’t intentional.”

“No, now, don’t try to tell me you just zoned out and got lost this time,” Dean said. He folded his arms as he leaned against the doorframe, appreciating the snug fit of Cas’s running shorts. “You must have started running when it was still pitch black, and it’s been hours. Did you even take a water bottle?”

“Mmm, no. Gimme.” The thought of water had Cas moving determinedly for the kitchen, where he grabbed a tumbler and filled it to the brim from the sink. Dean might have laughed at the sight of Cas chugging the contents of the cup without stopping to breathe if he hadn’t been a little upset.

“And what were you going to do if you passed out somewhere from dehydration? You didn’t leave a note, and your phone’s still plugged in where you left it last night. How far did you go, anyway?”

“Don’t know,” Cas gasped after he finished swallowing. He filled the cup a second time, this time drinking it more slowly. “Made it out to the old brick church on County Line, so maybe…fifteen? Sixteen?”

“Dude!” Dean frowned sharply. “Okay, for one thing, that church is at least nine or ten miles from here, so even assuming you went straight there and straight back, no.  And unless you took off even earlier than I thought you did, you were booking it hard, with no water or anything. Were you trying to hurt yourself or something?”

Castiel scowled back, running his hand through his sweaty hair to push it back from his forehead. “I was feeling restless and needed to burn off some energy. Frankly, I thought you’d appreciate me not waking you by tossing and turning, or by making noise around the house.”

“Are you kidding me?” With effort, Dean bit back an angry response, taking a moment to really look at Cas. “Come on, I don’t want to do this. I’m not mad; I’m worried. You had to know I was going to freak a little, right?”

Not meeting his eyes, Cas leaned over the sink, sticking his hand under the running water. He splashed a little on his face, rinsing away the drying sweat. “You’re right,” he finally said. “I apologize. I should have at least left a note. That was inconsiderate.”

“Less worried about my feelings, more worried about your safety,” Dean huffed. “Did it at least scratch the itch for you?” Grimacing over the small puddle now forming on the tile under Cas’s feet, he grabbed a hand towel from a drawer and passed it over so Cas could dry off a little.

“Some,” Cas answered, not particularly convincingly. “I’m sure I’ll be able to sleep better tonight, in any event.”

Dean thought it more likely that Cas would end up crashing partway through the day, but he withheld his prediction. “You know, I have something else I was going to ask you about last night, if the urge to punish yourself hangs around. It’s this yearly thing the gang and I do. We’ve been doing it for years, now, and Jo would probably skin me alive if I backed out, but you’d probably love it. You’ve done paintball, right?” At Cas’s nod, he continued, “Well, it’s that, but really involved. The camp takes a real world battle, like from one of the World Wars, and makes everybody reenact it, with cannons and trenches and shit. It goes on for a couple of days, so we camp out there, and it’s exhausting but awesome.”

Cas was smiling with amusement by the time Dean finished babbling. “It does sound like a lot of fun. I haven’t actually camped in years, so I’m not sure I have any supplies on hand. How far off is the event?”

Waving a hand, Dean replied, “Don’t worry, I’ve got us covered on that front. It’s next weekend, and all you need to do is fill out the registration and the liability form. Maybe stock up on some extra bug spray. Can’t have too much of that.”

In a flash, Cas’s expression went from pleased to grim. “Oh. That’s…unfortunate.”

“What, the bugs?”

Cas grimaced. “No, the timing. I’ve…I won’t be able to come this weekend. I’ve already got another commitment.”

“Really?” Crestfallen, Dean tried not to let his disappointment be too visible, so Cas wouldn’t feel worse about it. “I didn’t know. You never said anything about it. Is it a work thing?”

“Um,” Cas said. “No, it’s…” He groaned quietly, turning back to the sink. “It’s rut,” he muttered, almost too low for Dean to hear.

“Oh.” Dean blinked. Doing some quick math in his head, he felt immensely stupid. He supposed he’d known that alphas went into rut less frequently than omegas had heats, sometimes only a couple of times a year. He knew Cas had used suppressants in the past, when he was in law school and couldn’t afford to be off his game or miss classes, but that they’d messed with his moods to the point where he’d felt almost as aggressive as when he was a hormonal teenager. These days, he’d said that he preferred to use herbs and other things to balance out the weird hormonal swings, but he hadn’t really gone into specifics, and they hadn’t really talked much more about it.

He had, in fact, only really started to consider his own next heat and how it would be different now that he was mated. _How self-centered can I get?_ Dean wanted to slap himself in the face.

“Well,” he said instead, “that obviously changes things. Pretty sure that’s one excuse Jo will have to accept, even if she’s ticked that I didn’t let her know before now. Hey, I wonder if we can switch out for a different event weekend? Won’t be Normandy, but I think they might be doing Stalingrad next month—makes sense with the cooler evenings, I guess.”

“Dean, you don’t need to make the entire group change its plans just because I won’t be able to come along,” Cas said dryly. “I’m sure you’ll be able to defeat Rommel without me.” He dropped the cup carelessly in the sink and turned to head out of the kitchen.

“Hey, hang on!” Dean argued, following him. “You think I’m going to go without you? What, just leave you here by yourself, going through your rut by yourself?”

“It’s not as though I’ve never done it before.” Cas kept walking, not even glancing backward. “Actually, perhaps this is a fortuitous turn of events. You’ll be with your friends, having a good time, and I won’t have to worry about—”

“About what?” Dean strode quickly around Cas, stopping in front of him and planting his feet. “I want to know exactly what’s going through your head right now. Do you…do you not _want_ me to be there for your rut?” He couldn’t help but feel a little hurt and very confused. “Do you not trust me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cas grumbled, brow furrowed and eyes downcast.

“Then what is it? I mean, I seem to recall you being pretty damn intent on doing everything you could to help me with my heat last time, even when we hadn’t gotten to the point where I was comfortable enough to let you be with me through it. Pretty sure that makes it my turn to make with the spicy tomato soup, at the very least.” Even if Cas didn’t want him to help physically—another twinge of hurt at that idea—there was no way Dean was just going to abandon him entirely.

“I don’t…Dean, you don’t _owe_ me anything,” Cas said, sounding pained. “I didn’t take care of you with the expectation that you would be obligated to repay me in any way. I did it because—”

“—because you loved me,” Dean finished for him, “and that’s exactly why I want to be there for you. Hell, that’s one of the perks of _having_ a mate in the first place. But…” He swallowed hard and smiled as reassuringly as he could. “If you don’t think we’re ready for sharing ruts and heats, then I won’t push or do anything to make you uncomfortable. Still not going to take off like that, though. I can stay with Sam, keep tabs on you and bring you what you need, like you did for me.”

Cas’s expression was one of abject misery. “You don’t understand, and I’m not really explaining well,” he said. He released a short, disgruntled huff, lips twisting bitterly. “Or at all. And I’m making this so much worse than if I just came out and admitted…”

Dean couldn’t help the way his throat tightened and his words came out strained. “Admit what?” His brain was already giving him plenty of possible reasons Cas might be hedging about not wanting him around for this. _Maybe he thinks our scents won’t be compatible when he’s caught up in the hormones. Maybe he thinks I wouldn’t be responsible enough to take charge of the birth control. Maybe he’s changed his mind about wanting pups at all with me, and he just hasn’t told me yet. Maybe I’m just not good enough to satisfy him, and he’s too nice to say anything…_  

“Admitted that I don’t trust myself!” Cas closed his eyes tightly, hands clenched in white-knuckled fists at his side. He stepped backward, the speed of his breaths picking up as the muscles in his jaw jumped. “I hate… _so much_ ...the way my brain just—just _devolves,_ and all sense and rationality and thought turns into—into base _compulsions._ Everything I hate about what I am, about what the world _thinks_ I am, what they _expect_ . And for all my grand intentions, it’s all I _am_.”

Dean was stunned into silence by the outburst. When it was over, he forced himself to take a moment before responding, letting his racing heart slow a bit while he gathered his thoughts. He ached to argue every point Cas had shouted, refute them all, but looking at the way Cas’s shoulders were practically up around his ears, radiating stress and anxiety, he knew it was pointless to try at that moment. Instead, he took a cautious step forward, reaching for Cas’s hand while giving him the chance to pull away if he needed to. Cas didn’t flinch back, thankfully, though he remained stiff and tense as Dean lifted their joined hands and softly kissed Cas’s knuckles.

“Hey,” he murmured when Cas kept his eyes closed tightly. “Hey, c’mere.” He gently pulled their hands closer as he whispered, and then all in one movement, as though he’d been supported by beams that had suddenly been yanked away, Cas collapsed forward against his chest with a shudder. Heedless of the sweat-soaked hair, Dean pressed close, allowing Cas to push his forehead deeper into the crook between his shoulder and neck. He couldn’t tell whether the shallow breaths Cas was taking were residual effects from the outburst or attempts to calm himself through Dean’s scent.

Eventually, Dean realized that the slight tremors he felt in Cas’s body were probably shivers due to the perspiration cooling on his skin. “Cold?” he asked. When Cas nodded against his throat, Dean pressed a kiss against his temple and cautiously pulled back slightly. “Okay, why don’t you go get a warm shower? Use that fancy honey soap and take your time. I’ll call Sam, tell him not to freak if you’re a little late.” Privately, he was already planning to convince Cas to take at least the morning off, but he knew better than to say so just now.

When Castiel had made his way into the bathroom and closed the door, Dean made for his phone. First, he shot off a text to Jo, tersely letting her know that he was sorry, but there was no way he and Cas could come out to the paintball event. _Biology waits for no man,_ he typed, hoping she’d be grossed out enough to not demand specifics. Next he texted Sam, as promised, and finally he called Bobby. The old man answered with an unceremonious grunt. “You best not be telling me you’re playing hooky today,” he said. “I got about half a dozen oil changes on the calendar on top of a couple brake jobs and three different appointments for ‘something’s going ping-ping.’”

Dean winced in anticipation. “It’s Cas,” he said, hoping Bobby would understand. “He’s not feeling well.”

“So give him a box of tissues and some aspirin, and get your ass in here.”

“You know I wouldn’t ask if it were like that,” Dean sighed. “Just, please—it’s important. I’ll be in as soon as I can.”

Bobby was quiet for a minute. “Well, one of those brake jobs is the Bender’s old beater truck. Likely to find a half dozen more things wrong with it when we start, and they’re not in any hurry to get it back. Asa can handle the other one, so long as you take care of the mystery jobs this afternoon. Your boy gonna be okay by then?”

“Hope so,” Dean sighed. “Oh, should probably put on the calendar, though. I might need to call out a day or two around next weekend. Cas has got, uh, his…cycle. Rut.” Mark that down under awkward subjects to discuss with your boss, Dean thought, squirming a little.

Bobby sounded just as flustered as Dean felt. “Don’t need details!” he almost shouted into the phone. “Just fill out the paperwork for the office and leave out the specifics!” He was still muttering when he hung up, and Dean felt a momentary surge of sympathy for whichever worker Bobby might run into next.

Dean heard the shower cut off. Glancing back at the bathroom and gauging his remaining time, he turned and quickly made his way to the office, trusting that the object he sought there would be near the top of the mountain of papers and books littering the desk. He grinned in satisfaction as his hand closed on it just before the bathroom door opened and he heard soft footsteps crossing the hall.

Cas was leaning heavily against the bedframe, looking completely wiped out, when Dean entered the bedroom. “So, Sam’s not expecting you at work until later,” Dean began. “You’ve got some time to drink a few more gallons of water and get your leg muscles to stop twitching.” The thighs in question, visible under the towel wrapped around Cas’s waist, were still damp and pleasantly reddened from the heat of the shower water, and Dean couldn’t help admiring them even as he teased.

“You know that I’ve run an actual marathon before,” Cas said dryly. “It’s not nearly as incapacitating as you might think.” He pushed away from the bed and stepped toward the dresser, but was unable to hide the wince he felt at the movement. “Well, with good preparation, anyway.”

“Mm-hmm.” Dean crossed the room and plopped down on the edge of the bed. “But none of this is about a race, or even just exercising. You’re dodging what you don’t want to think about, by working late or destroying yourself physically. You lied to me, you know.”

Cas spun. “I didn’t!” he protested. “I may have downplayed my idiocy this morning, and I might have… _avoided_ certain subjects lately, but I would never—”

Dean held up a hand. “Not talking about the last couple weeks,” he said. With the other hand, he lifted the piece of paper he held, one that was very familiar to them both. “I keep thinking we ought to frame this, you know. Hang it where we can see it, give it a place of honor?” Turning it toward himself, Dean traced the pen-drawn circles and lines with with a fingertip, feeling the fondness he always did when he remembered the day they’d sat and brainstormed the thing. Starting at the large middle circle, emblazoned with the words “MATING BOND” in large capitals, he followed the arrow path to “Health,” which led to “Heats/Ruts.” Stopping there, he tapped his finger pointedly.

Cas let out a slow breath. His eyes were glued to where Dean was tapping, and they were filled with dejection.

“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty,” Dean said firmly. “That’s the last thing I want. It’s just that you spent so much time making us talk through every one of my worries about my biological crap, and all the logistics and what we’d do about them, but when I asked you about rutting…”

“…I said I wasn’t worried about it,” Cas finished. “I wasn’t.”

“You just weren’t planning on having me be any part of it?”

“No, I just—I wasn’t making any plans at all, really,” Cas huffed. “I suppose some part of me was hoping that once I was mated, that the…the _urges_ would ease. That they’d be easier to handle.”

Dean snorted. “That makes no sense, you know,” he said. “The whole purpose of heats and ruts is to pull out all those instincts and get us to just breed, breed, breed. Once you’re mated, that’s all the more reason for your body to want to try to fill up the world with your pups. God, my next heat is going to be ridiculous.”

Groaning, Cas braced his arms against the dresser and hung his head. “Fuck,” he quietly swore. Dean didn’t respond, feeling uncertain; it was rare that Castiel was upset enough to abandon eloquence in favor of simple cursing. “I’m sorry,” Cas finally said, without lifting his gaze. “I should have been open about my apprehensions from the beginning. I was probably lying to myself as much as anything else.”

“Hey, I know all about that,” Dean said with a shrug. “But here’s the thing. You are aware that I know you’re an alpha, right?”

Cas frowned, unamused. “Dean,” he said reproachfully.

“Just making sure,” Dean defended, smirking. “So you know that your cycles and shit aren’t exactly coming out of nowhere for me? I sort of knew what I was getting into when I signed on for this. Hell, I actively triggered your chase instinct  on purpose the day we mated, remember? I’d be a hypocrite if I turned up my nose and got all shocked when it comes to the rest of your reproductive stuff.”

Shaking his head, Cas was already trying to protest. “That’s not the point…”

“No, I know that. The point you’re trying to make, if you want to try and make it, is the same damn point I tried to make every time I ever acted stupid about one of my heats. There’s a big difference between actually accepting something and just, like, resigning yourself to it grudgingly but still sort of fighting it. Hey, remember how you reacted when I told you how the doctor put me on those super-strong suppressants when I was a teenager?” Castiel made a tiny growling noise of protest, and Dean nodded, lips twitching upward. “Right. But it wasn’t just that they were damaging and unhealthy. You were pissed because you thought they were trying to change who I am.”

“You have to know that I can see where you’re heading with this,” Cas muttered, but he didn’t sound as upset as before. Feeling hopeful, Dean pushed on.

“Course you can, because it’s not complicated. You talk a big game about self-acceptance, babe, but it has to go both ways.” Dean put the paper on the bed beside him, then put his hands on his knees and leaned forward intently. “It’s okay, though. Actually, since I know exactly what it’s like to be where you are, and you’ve gotten pretty good at sticking by me while I find my way out again, switching positions might not be too hard.”

“I don’t want to _hurt_ you,” Cas stated. He was still staring at the top of the dresser, not meeting Dean’s eyes. “I can’t stand the thought of treating you like you were nothing more than…than a… “

“Let me ask you this,” Dean said. “When I’m in heat, all my brain can process is need. Not a need for romance, or for companionship, or for an emotionally supportive life partner or whatever. I ache and burn to be filled up, stretched, knotted. It’s not sexy; I don’t care how the movies make it sound. It’s just this overwhelming compulsion, days of napsturbating nonstop until my cock is chafed, and then an enormous pile of the most disgusting laundry you’ve ever seen. Now, you tell me. Do you think less of me, hearing that?”

Going by the look on Castiel’s face, perhaps this hadn’t been the best time for Dean to have tried to paint that graphic little picture. Cas’s pupils were blown wide, his nostrils were flared as though trying to scent a phantom trace of Dean’s heat, and his trembling lips were parted around slightly quickened gasps for air. Oops. Dean cleared his throat and waited. A long moment passed, during which Cas seemed to struggle his way back to the present. Finally, after pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, Cas shuddered. “That’s playing dirty, Dean. Of course not. But—”

“Then why do it to yourself? Do you think I’m judging you?”

Gritting his teeth, Cas folded his arms across his chest, the image of defensiveness. “You can say that, but what if I were to pin you to the bed, manhandling you into whatever position allowed me to drive into you the hardest without a thought for your comfort, my mouth and hands on you hard enough to bruise or maybe even draw blood, fucking you over and over with barely a break between knots…”

“Are you trying to warn me or seduce me?” It was Dean’s turn to practically salivate over the images in his head. “Jesus, Cas! Okay, I mean, I get what you’re saying, and if you were some nameless alpha, that would be damn terrifying. But you’re _not._ And I don’t care about stereotypes. You’re my mate, and you’re going to be my husband, and this is just something you _do,_ not the whole of what you _are._ None of what you described is even a dealbreaker. Kind of the opposite, if we’re being honest.”

“What if I lose control and do worse?” Cas protested. “Dean, I couldn’t ever forgive myself if I injured you or pushed you too far.”

Dean caught himself before he could immediately brush aside Cas’s fears, instead making himself slow down and listen. “How about this? I’m not worried, personally, because I know you, and I can’t imagine it’s anything like as bad as you think it is, but even if you went completely out of your mind, I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself. But”—he held up a palm to keep Cas from interrupting—”if you want to be extra careful, we can set up a backup system. I could put Sam on speed-dial and let him know what’s going on, give him a spare house key, and he could dash over and help if things get out of control. He may not be an alpha, but he’d manage it, and he wouldn’t freak.”

Cas was silent for so long that Dean started to worry he was going to refuse. Not that he’d ever push Cas into something that he really didn’t want, but he hated the idea of Cas feeling like some kind of dangerous monster. At last, Cas finally unfolded his arms, stepping quickly toward Dean on legs that wobbled only slightly. With his face buried in Dean’s neck, the mumbled words he spoke were unintelligible, but it didn’t take a genius to translate them.

“Love you, too,” Dean said, stroking his back.


	2. Stabilizers Up, Turn the Thrusters On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No need to abort,  
> The countdown starts...
> 
> (A little "Major Tom," because I amuse myself.)

**T-4 days and counting**

“Okay, one, you have no way of predicting with that kind of precision when his rut is actually going to start, Dean,” Sam said over the phone, sounding equal parts teasing and embarrassed. “And two, NASA counts in hours, not days.”

“Well, I’m estimating,” Dean replied placidly. “Didn’t you just say that I wouldn’t be able to predict accurately? You’d think you’d appreciate how I’ve adapted the strategy.”

“Whatever.” Sam was rolling his eyes; despite not being able to see his brother’s face, Dean was sure of it. It didn’t matter. In the last week, Dean had made it part of his mission to observe every subtle shift and tell-tale sign in his mate’s behavior, doing all he could to be as prepared as possible. The restlessness Castiel had been experiencing had continued, becoming more pronounced over the weekend, and his mood had grown progressively darker. From his internet searching, Dean had concluded that it was likely a combination of surging hormones and Cas’s deep unhappiness about the approaching rut. Everything seemed to irritate him, which then had him feeling guilty for his temper, which made him even more morose.

“He’s definitely still got a few days to go, from what I can tell, but not many. We actually had to skip out on grocery shopping last night, abandon a cart of stuff, because some woman in the produce section smiled at me. She might even have been an omega herself, for all that I could tell from a distance, but it wasn’t worth finding out. Thought Cas was going to scent the entire department just to stake his claim.”

“Dude, that’s…wow.” Sam cleared his throat. “And you want me to be back-up muscle for this? You’re asking me to potentially take on an out-of-control alpha when he’s in full rut rage?”

“If it helps, he says you have his blanket permission to fight dirty,” Dean tried.

Dry laughter came from Sam’s end of the phone line. “Sure. Because when he shows up to work afterward with a black eye, the senior partners will be totally understanding. But okay, I’m in. Thanks for trusting me with it, I guess.”

“Well, it’s not that I think I’ll really need to call,” Dean said. “Just trying to cover all the bases, so he can feel better about everything.” While he was speaking, Dean was surveying the pile of supplies he’d gone back to get once Cas was safely at home, mortified by his own possessive behavior. On the advice from the internet, along with both his own experiences with heats and the bits of information Cas had grudgingly shared about his past ruts, Dean had stocked up on not just bottles of water, but electrolyte-added sports drinks as well. Apparently, Castiel had skirted the edges of dehydration pretty narrowly in the past. Dean had also grabbed plenty of protein bars in a variety of flavors, hoping at least one would be tolerable once Cas hit the point where eating would become unappealing.

A separate package of supplies had come in the mail that day, courtesy of overnight shipping. It contained the more “intimate” needs Dean had thought might come in handy if things started to go pear-shaped. He’d never had any problem in terms of making enough slick to keep things comfy, but he had no frame of reference for this type of situation, so he’d decided that having a few bottles of lube on hand wouldn’t hurt. Next to those, what looked like a carton of eggs made Dean bite his lip and grin wickedly; he took one out and spun it around in his fingers, studying it with curiosity. As far as masturbators went, Tenga Eggs were a cheap enough splurge, and they were fucking adorable. _Adorable sex toys? I need more sleep._

Thinking of sleep made Dean yawn, then apologize to Sam. “Hard to sleep with Cas tossing and turning,” he explained. “I’d sleep at home, but he actually seems a little better with me here, frighteningly enough. I think we need a better way to channel the extra energy he’s packing. Can’t even go for an ordinary run at this point, y’know?” This close to a rut, it would be complete idiocy to go jogging; the chase instinct was too close to the surface, and Dean didn’t want to imagine the consequences of accidentally setting it off when they were too far from home.

“I’m guessing yoga doesn’t scratch the itch for him,” Sam mused. “What about interval training? Look up ‘HIIT’ online. You could do something there at the house or in the backyard.”

“This isn’t some fruity Pilates thing, is it?” Dean said skeptically.

“Just look it up.” There was the noise of paper shuffling, and Sam made an unhappy sound. “Anything you can do to, you know, try to get him to hold off until the weekend? The caseload is massive right now. His constant scowling is getting pretty effective in terms of encouraging people through mediations faster than usual, though.”

“Bye, Sam,” Dean groaned, hanging up.

**T-2.5 days (or so) and counting**

The dryer buzzed, and Dean grabbed the nearby basket to unload yet another pile of towels and bedding. It was probably overkill, he knew, but there wasn’t anything wrong with having freshly cleaned linens, even if most of it stayed in the closet.

Castiel was lying on the bed in his boxers, having stripped off as soon as he came through the door from work. Apparently, his fancy Egyptian cotton dress shirt was “glorified fucking burlap.” _Sensitive skin,_ Dean had noted on his mental list of symptoms. Dean dumped the basket onto the bed beside him and started folding.

“What are those?” Cas asked suddenly, eyeing the bundles of white fabric in Dean’s hands.

“Sheets,” Dean answered, shrugging.

“Are they new? They’re not mine, I don’t have any plain white.”

“Yeah, I just got ‘em, and I wanted to give them a good wash beforehand,” Dean said. He kept folding, aware of Cas’s growing frown.

“That was unnecessary. My sheets are fine. I _like_ my sheets,” he grumbled petulantly. “New ones are always scratchy at first.”

“Okay, but these came recommended for heats and ruts,” said Dean, trying hard not to chuckle at his mate’s pouting expression. “They’re water-resistant, see? And the underside of the fitted sheet is actually coated in Teflon or something, so it protects your mattress. You know there’s no feasible way to keep up with condoms through this, which is one reason I got the shot instead, and between the both of us, the combined mess is going to be epic.”

Cas nudged the sheet with his calf and looked even more disgusted. “Scratchy,” he repeated. Dean raised an eyebrow, running the fabric through his hands. Okay, it wasn’t exactly silk, but it wasn’t terrible, especially coming fresh from the dryer. Cas grunted, turning his head to the side and burrowing a little into the pillow. The muffled sound of his breathing nudged at Dean’s thoughts, prompting him to take a closer look at the situation.

“Hey, Cas, is that _my_ pillow?” he asked. The difference wasn’t obvious, but Cas usually preferred a flatter pillow at night, whereas Dean had actually brought over one of the fluffy down pillows from his house when he’d begun feeling aches in his neck on mornings after staying over. Cas didn’t answer Dean’s question, but the single eye visible above the pillow slitted open and glared. Dean couldn’t hold back his grin. “It’s a scent thing, isn’t it?”

With an exasperated huff, Cas rolled fully onto his side. “Don’t tease,” he complained, sounding embarrassed. “I like the way our bed smells, like both of us. It helps with all this, a little.”

“You don’t have to defend any of that to me,” Dean said, returning to his folding. “It’s totally normal. You know, if that’s all the problem is, there’s no rule saying we’d have to hold off on breaking in the new sheets until the day. We could have some happy-fun-roll-around times in ‘em whenever you want, make ‘em smell as good as you like.” With a dramatic flourish, he grabbed one of the new pillowcases and tied it around his throat like a scarf. “How’s that?”

Castiel was trying not to smile, but he couldn’t fight it off completely. “Very ruggedly chic,” he joked. Then, smile dipping again, he sighed. “I hate how you’re having to baby me. I’m being a complete ass, I know. You shouldn’t have to put up with it.”

“Uh-uh, stop that,” Dean said, dropping the laundry and crawling onto the bed beside him. “Taking care of you is not ‘babying.’ Besides, I fully expect you’ll dote worse than I’m doing when it’s my turn again.” He nosed against Cas’s scent gland, indulging in the tantalizing hints of smokiness slowly merging with his mate’s usual spicy scent. “And all hell will probably break loose when our cycles sync up.” On impulse, as he felt the arms looped around his back pulling him closer, Dean ran the tip of his tongue along Cas’s throat lightly, tasting.

The embrace tightened abruptly as Cas went tense as a bowstring. Before Dean could blink, he was on his back with Cas hovering over him, boxing him in with his arms. Sitting astride Dean’s lap, Cas rolled his hips downward, pressing hard; the gentle arousal Dean had been feeling as they’d snuggled burst into flame, and his jaw dropped as he fought to remember how to breathe.

The sheets needed to be rewashed, but there were no further complaints about their smell.

**T-18:00 (or pretty close) and counting**

“All I’m saying is that you’re making it worse,” Dean said as he funneled warm soup into the last of the plastic containers intended for the refrigerator. Luckily, Cas’s spicy soup recipe was just as simple to make as he had been promised; Dean hoped that the peppers worked on rut symptoms as well as they did for heat. Either way, he was salivating hard and eagerly waiting for dinner that night. “You’re fighting a losing battle with yourself, and it’s not like I’m even complaining, anyway.”

“I don’t know why not,” Cas groused, steadily reducing a piece of crusty bread to a pile of crumbs with his fingers instead of eating it the way he should have been. “It’s getting ridiculous. I practically tackled you this morning.”

“That’s what God made non-slip shower tread for,” Dean said mildly. His only complaint would have been that he’d wound up with a bit of shampoo in his eyes when he’d knelt, but that wasn’t Cas’s fault. Dean had been the one repaying the favor for the enthusiastic surprise rimming that had him coming all over the shower wall that morning. “Not like we’ve never done it before, you know. Now stop mutilating the bread if you’re not actually hungry.”

Cas blinked at the mess. “Oh. I hadn’t even noticed.” He swept the crumbs into his hand, ducking outside to scatter them in the grass for the birds. When he returned, he helped Dean load the fridge, but after they finished, he kept pacing an aimless route around the room. Dean watched, arms folded across his bare chest.

“Too much energy?” he finally asked.

“Like I’m going to explode,” Cas affirmed unhappily. “I know I’ve said I hate treadmills, but now I wish I had one of the stupid oversized hamster wheels, just to take the edge off. Maybe they could deliver one overnight? I should…” He reached for his phone, but Dean grabbed it.

“Better idea,” he said. “I know how we can tire you out.” Cas lifted an eyebrow, and Dean laughed. “Besides that, I mean. Ever hear of burpees? I found some stuff on the internet, and these things look like something right up your alley. Supposed to be good for core strength and cardio, and—”

Cas scoffed, pushing the kitchen table to the side to make a larger space on the floor. Without preamble, he dropped into a straight-armed plank position, jumping his feet backward smoothly. He completed a quick push-up, popped his feet forward toward his hands, then leapt upward with arms upraised. He finished with his hands on his hips and a challenging smirk.

“Okay, okay. I see the way you wanna play this,” Dean chuckled, impressed and completely on board. “Can I at least change out of my jeans first, before this turns into the contest we both know is about to happen?”

“If you think it’ll help,” Cas said, leaning against the counter casually. The competitive flash in his eyes was something Dean thought would never fail to make his heart start racing. Cas’s skin was somewhat flushed, as it had been when he woke that morning, but now the flush was deepening as his body found an outlet for the surging adrenaline. One of his bicep muscles twitched involuntarily.

“Oh, it’s on now,” Dean called over his shoulder as he turned and forced himself to head for the bedroom, swallowing hard. Mentally, he thanked Sam for the advice, even as he readied himself to get his ass kicked. He wasn’t going to hand over the victory without a fight, at least.

**Ignition sequence start…**

It was probably the chill of the bedsheets that first woke Dean, though he wasn’t fully awake until he rolled over to reach for Cas and felt his shoulders protest. He hissed a curse as he flinched a little away from the movement. _Dumb idea of the century, getting into a burpee contest with an adrenaline-riddled pre-rut alpha._ By the time Cas had exerted himself enough to feel satisfied, Dean’s upper body had been reduced to spaghetti arms and quivering deltoids, and that had been only the beginning of the pain he’d experienced in his abdominals the following morning. At least the soreness had abated over the course of the day, after he’d gotten himself moving and stretching.

“Cas, babe?” he murmured, blinking in the darkness. There was no answer. Dean squinted at the clock, rousing further when he saw it wasn’t even 1 AM yet. The bed was too cold for Cas to have just gotten up to use the bathroom, but it was way too early for him to be up for any good reason, either.

Dean rolled out of the bed, muscles whimpering a bit in their stiffness, and went searching. It didn’t take him long to find his mate; even if the house had been much larger, the rut scent filling the kitchen had reached peak levels. Hesitating in the doorway, Dean could barely make out Cas standing in the unlit room, swaying slightly but otherwise unmoving. “Babe?” Dean repeated. Instead of an answer, Dean received in response a low growl. The shadowed figure took a prowling step closer to him, and he shivered.

Instinctually, the omega in Dean felt a nervous impulse to flee and hide. Far more, though, that impulse was overridden by a compulsion to _submit._ This  wasn’t some dangerously aggressive alpha; this was his mate, and this situation was exactly what it had to be. Instead of turning and running, Dean stood firm, meeting Castiel’s eyes (or where, in the dark, he supposed his eyes were) and tilting his head to bare his throat. Keeping his voice as calm and reassuring as he could manage, in spite of the buzz of excitement fizzing down his spine, he murmured, “That’s right. Come on over here. I know what you want, and it’s all good.”

Castiel paused within arm’s reach, then shuddered hard. “Dean…I—” he choked. Suddenly grabbing Dean, Cas collapsed forward and gripped him tightly, shivers convulsing his body.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Dean soothed. His head swam a little, caught up in the dizzying cloud of potent pheromones. “I’m all yours. But not right here, not in the kitchen. Let’s take it to the bed, okay? To the, uh, nest?” It hadn’t escaped his attention that Cas’s recent concern with the fabrics in their bed had extended beyond the sheets; Dean’s favorite tee-shirt, for one, had mysteriously disappeared, only for him to discover it peeking out from under Cas’s pillow. Maybe neither of them were so traditional as to build full nests, with piles of bright colored pillows and well-loved clothing items, but some instincts ran bone-deep. Cas might never have admitted willingly to it when he was fully lucid, but right now, about ten seconds from full rut, Dean’s suggestion had his nostrils flaring and his eyes dilating with need.

A awkward stumble into the bedroom, ending in a collapse atop the mattress, nearly knocked the wind from Dean’s lungs when Cas landed on top of him. What little air he retained vanished a moment later when, before he could say another word, he found himself stripped and writhing on a pair of trembling fingers plunged deep. No matter how unprepared his mind may have been, Dean’s body was doing an admirable job keeping pace, almost ready to go without much stretching at all. On the other hand, he had a feeling this might be one of the last times for the next couple of days that Cas would be coherent enough to give him much prep, so he bit his lip and let his mate do as he wished.

That wish apparently included turning Dean into a thorough wreck before the show even got started. At the feeling of slick beginning to drip down his wrist, Cas’s expression turned even more hungry, and he hoised Dean’s legs onto his shoulders as he slid back off the edge of the bed to kneel on the floor. Dean gasped and fisted the sheets beside his head as Cas set his mouth continue the work of his fingers, filthy sounds muffled against Dean’s most sensitive spots. Dean never stood a chance; when those fingers returned and joined Cas’s tongue in plunging deep inside him, Dean shouted and came hard all over his abdomen.

Castiel’s eyes were enormous when he lifted his head and stared at Dean over the rise of his softening cock. His mouth appeared to be working around words, but no sound was escaping. Dean felt boneless and floaty, fighting to pull himself together. “Yeah, okay. C’mon, _alpha._ Show me what you got. All yours.”

The fingers pressing into the flesh of Dean’s thigh spasmed hard. “ _Mine,_ ” Cas echoed, voice impossibly deep. Lunging upward, he shoved his own boxers the rest of the way to the floor and pushed between Dean’s legs, lining up and thrusting home. Dean shook, over-sensitive from having just come, under the ferocity of Cas’s need, but there was no way he would have protested even if Cas could have slowed down.

Castiel in rut was gorgeous. His olive skin was reddened from the blood pumping furiously beneath, and the floods of testosterone through his system over the previous week were apparent from the slightly increased bulk of muscle in his upper body. The arms holding him up as he pounded into Dean were trembling, flexing and contracting and _glowing_ under a sheen of perspiration, and…oh, there was not one bit of Dean that regretted anything about being a part of this.

Cas was muttering nonsense as he fucked into Dean, growling unrelated words and phrases without any sign he was aware of what he was saying. “Omega...mine, so good…fill…God, you…fuck.” As the thrusts grew even harder, Cas’s expression began to twist, his brow furrowing. “Dean…need—” With no further warning, he pulled out, manhandling Dean onto his stomach and driving back in. The new angle and the increased depth it allowed was apparently what Cas had needed, because only a few moments later, Dean gasped as the greater width of Cas’s knot started tugging at his entrance with each thrust. Then stars were bursting behind his eyelids as they were finally tied together, and Cas was groaning loudly against the side of Dean’s throat as he emptied his cock into Dean.

The two of them rolled to one side, snuggling close and catching their breaths. Exhausted, Dean narrowed his eyes and squinted in the dim light from the streetlamps through the curtains, trying to see the clock. It was about a quarter past one. _Here we go,_ he thought. _Wonder how much shut-eye I can get before round two?_ He had a feeling it was going to be a long, sleepless night.

**Mission Elapsed Time (MET) 4:42**

Dean’s cynical suspicions had been correct. As the sky above the horizon was beginning to grow perceptibly lighter, Knot #2 was a fresh memory, the traces of which were still dripping down Dean’s inner thighs. (Holy _shit,_ was he ever glad he’d managed to get Cas on board with the waterproof sheets.) Cas was hovering in a semiconscious state of simmering arousal behind him, rocking against Dean’s ass while tracing fingers over his lower abdomen as if he could feel his come through the layers of skin and muscle.

When the knot had slipped free, Dean had finally managed to grab his phone, sitting on his bedside table. Cas had protested inarticulately, growling and trying to prevent Dean from pulling out of his embrace. Too tired to think much about it, Dean had growled back at him, which must have surprised Cas, since he’d promptly released his hold. He watched Dean quietly, head tilted to the side, as Dean quickly sent off the prearranged text to Sam, letting him know that all systems were go. When Dean tried to roll further away to reach the bottles of water on the floor beside the bed, Cas growled again.

Dean rolled back again and flicked him lightly between the eyes with his fingers. Cas went cross-eyed. “Knock it off and drink,” Dean said, his voice already hoarse. Handing Cas a bottle, he uncapped another one for himself and drank deeply, gratified when Cas copied him automatically. “Good,” he said, and Cas managed a small smile at the praise.

**MET 6:15**

With a beep, the automatic cycle for the coffee pot kicked on in the kitchen. _Uh-oh, forgot to stop that,_ Dean realized. The wonderful smell of fresh brewing coffee soon began filling the room, and Dean almost salivated with desire. Maybe if he was quick…

Castiel sniffed the air, lifting his head. Then he _snarled_. Dean grimaced, letting go of the brief hope he’d had for bringing a mug back to bed.

“No coffee today?” he asked plaintively. Cas didn’t bother responding; instead, he grabbed Dean’s head and pulled it closer, scenting him over and over in an apparent effort to cover up the unbearable new stench. He refused to stop, getting increasingly frustrated as the coffee smell remained, until finally Dean shoved hard to get him onto his back, then grabbed his near-constantly erect cock and swallowed it down as far as he could go.

A short while later, Dean was carefully and quietly closing the bedroom door on an alpha passed out in satisfaction. A smug smile graced his face as he made his way toward the kitchen and his coffee.

**MET 9:40**

“No, don’t you give me that look, Cas. Big alpha, with your big knot—think you’re all tough, but you’re not going _anywhere_ until I see you _eat this.”_ Dean brandished the protein bar in Castiel’s face, ignoring the stubbornly set expression of mutiny.

Castiel rolled his eyes and glowered at the ceiling. He shook his head, refusing to cooperate.

Dean smirked. Perched atop Cas as he was, he had no intention of giving up. “You need to eat, Cas. Let me see you take a bite, or else…” Deviously, he clenched his ass around where Castiel’s knot was buried inside him. Cas’s mouth dropped open as he gasped; Dean felt the knot pulse hard as Cas came again, and his triumphant grin widened. “Now, we can do this all day. I got nothing better to do.” He held out the bar again, magnanimously refraining from pumping a fist when this time it was yanked from his hand and devoured.

**MET 11:20**

Castiel was finally asleep again. Dean took advantage of the short respite to do a quick cleanup with some disposable cleaning cloths and to take stock of the physical situation. Not even twelve hours in, and he was already getting very sore. Dean had been doing his level best to drink as much water as he could, as well as to make Cas do the same, but he’d apparently underestimated his own requirements and limitations. Worryingly, he was beginning to notice a marked decrease in how much slick his body was able to produce. _Thank God I bought that lube._ Dean just hoped Cas didn’t get too pissed about how it smelled wrong.

The phone was flashing with a number of unread messages, and Dean glanced at them briefly, in case there was an emergency. (Not that he’d be able to do more than feel sympathetic for whomever was involved, of course, but still, curiosity won out.) Sam had replied to his earlier text, awkwardly wishing him luck; for a moment, Dean considered making things even more uncomfortable with a lewd emoji or two, but he decided not to push it. Word must somehow have spread to the bar gang, too, about all systems being “go,” or else they were just guessing, because almost the entirety of the rest of his messages were creatively filthy suggestions from the group.

One message was from Dr. Bradbury, cautioning him to not neglect self-care. _You have to put on your own oxygen mask before you can really help Cas with his,_ she said. Tipping a mental salute to her wisdom, Dean chugged more water, and then, yawning, closed his eyes to grab a bit more rest.

**MET 13:15**

There were butterflies tickling Dean’s lower back. Opening his eyes was too much effort, so, careful of not accidentally hurting their delicate wings, he waved an arm at them. “Shoo,” he whispered in a raspy voice.

“Shhhh,” the butterflies answered.

Dean’s brain churned hard for a second, doing the math, until he remembered the situation. Meanwhile, the tickling continued, resolving into stroking fingertips and a soft tongue, neither of which were any less ticklish. Dean wriggled a little, and the fingers stopped tickling in favor of grabbing him around the waist to prevent him from escaping any more. The tongue kept moving, licking the salt from his skin as it made its way further and further down his back.

When Cas dipped lower, spreading Dean open and tracing his poor, abused hole, Dean couldn’t help his reaction. “Nnn-nnn-nnngh,” he whimpered, shying away with a tiny involuntary jerk. Behind him, Castiel growled and, with the palm of one hand, spanked Dean sharply. The sound of the smack was loud in the quiet room, Dean gasped, and suddenly everything seemed to freeze.

Lifting his head to look over his shoulder at his mate, Dean observed how openly stunned Cas looked, an even more pronounced blush blooming across his cheeks. “Dean,” he stammered, shaken momentarily out of his rut-fog by the shock. “You…I didn’t…”  He started to pull away, but Dean grabbed his hands and held him in place.

“All right, we can have this conversation later,” he said, face heating with his own blush, “and maybe we’ll just let it go until everybody’s in their right minds, but that...that is…um. Not at all a problem for me. Just, y’know. FYI.” He closed his eyes and pushed back toward Cas, at the same time pulling one of Cas’s hands forward around his hips to demonstrate clearly just how little of a problem it had been. The burn of his cheekbones mirrored the burn on his ass, and wasn’t _this_ an interesting moment of self-discovery to be having just now?

At the feel of Dean’s achingly hard cock straining in his palm, Castiel let out a powerful groan that vibrated through both their bodies. His eyes rolled back as he shuddered, and then he was yanking Dean’s body downward along his own, pushing into him in a single thrust. Pleasure quickly swept away the lingering discomfort, and Dean could do nothing but surrender to it.

**MET 16:45**

“God _dammit,_ Cas, I just need thirty seconds to take a piss! I don’t need you trying to knot me over the sink, so you can just stay put until I get back!”

**MET 24:00**

Amazingly, Castiel was finally, _finally_ in what seemed to be an extended lull between waves of need. He was actually limp, for what felt like the first time in an eternity, and his snores were mighty enough to wake the dead. Dean, in an act of daring indulgence, decided it would be a relatively safe opportunity to make his escape for a real shower. Still keeping his senses alert to any sounds of his mate waking, he gingerly clambered into the tub, hissing as the warm water flowed over tender flesh.

For a few minutes, Dean didn’t bother scrubbing at all; he just let the water work to sluice away the remnants of the past day, closing his eyes and rolling his head on his neck. From neck to knee, Dean had been marked: dried come and slick, bruises and a few fingernail scratches, the light impression of teeth here and there. Honestly, though? It wasn’t as bad as he’d been expecting, somehow. He’d  been wrecked nearly as bad on other, non-rut-driven occasions. That long weekend over the Fourth of July, when they’d borrowed Cas’s brother’s cabin…it was a good thing Amelia kept a steam vacuum in the shed, they’d agreed fervently afterward, blushing as they scrubbed.

This? It wasn’t the terrifying, impossible whirlwind crucible of sexual need he’d been prepared to endure. For all that Castiel had been whittled down to a single-minded focus on taking and breeding, he _still_ somehow managed to stay a hell of a lot more in control of himself than plenty of alphas behaved even without the excuse of a rut. Other than the difficulties with keeping on top of hydration, Dean almost felt…not disappointed, exactly. Tricked? He chuckled to himself. _Well, another day or two, and we can both laugh about it. Probably all gonna be smoother sailing from this point on, anyway. Everything should be good to go, just fine._

**MET 29:15**

Everything was _not_ fine. Almost immediately after coming back to the bedroom after his shower, Dean had realized his grave mistake. Cas had jerked awake, emitting an outraged guttural rumbling sound, and threw himself on top of Dean, frantically scenting and pawing and growling against his skin. Dean had groaned at his own shortsighted stupidity—he’d _washed away their scents._

That single error kickstarted a cycle of nearly nonstop fucking, frenzied and feverish, broken only by the comparatively gentler deep grinding that accompanied a knot. Cas seemed to have lost most of even the diminished coherency and verbal skills he’d maintained before Dean’s shower, and he was starting to become even more resistant to Dean’s efforts to convince him to drink or eat.

“Cas, baby, c’mon,” Dean urged, trying to hold a bottle to his mouth for him to sip. When Cas tried to push it away, Dean tried again. “Alpha. Please, alpha. Drink for me. Your omega wants you to drink.”

The tiny amount Cas grudgingly drank would have felt like more of a victory if Dean wasn’t able to see the way his dry lips had cracked when he opened them.

**MET 34:20**

Castiel was burning. His skin felt scorching where he clung to Dean like a life preserver in a flood. His growls had slowly ceased, turning into hoarse grunts and gasps instead. The urgency of his need, however, seemed to have only grown stronger. In fact, Cas seemed so far out of his mind at this point that if he weren’t also scarily weakened, he’d probably be capable of doing some serious damage. _To himself,_ Dean thought glumly. _Not to me._ Even now, he knew for gospel that Cas would somehow find a way to override any kind of primal compulsions pushing him in a direction that might hurt Dean.

“So it’s on me to protect you,” Dean murmured, though Cas wasn’t listening. “Here.” From the bottle of water in his hand, Dean poured another stream over his chest, letting it run down the center and over his stomach. Cas sighed and bent his head over the trickle, lapping it from Dean’s skin. It was a slow process, like some perverse kind of bodyshots, but at least it was something. Dean’s heart ached at the feel of the roughness of Cas’s tongue on his stomach.

A thought had struck Dean a little while before, and ever since then, he’d been unable to stop thinking about it. “You wouldn’t have sent me off if you knew it would be this bad,” he said to his mate, now licking at his hipbones. “So you must not have known it would be like this. Caught you by surprise. Your first rut as a mated man, and…and your body’s going fucking batshit.” Watching the tiny hitches of Cas’s hips against the bed, he sighed, rubbing his free hand through the tangled, sweaty locks of Cas’s hair.

**MET 40:15**

Castiel knelt between Dean’s legs and reached for his own cock, preparing to push back inside. When his hand touched his shaft, however, he winced in pain, and Dean cringed sympathetically. Even with the extra lube and as fucked-open as Dean was by now, friction was friction, and there had been far more than enough of that to make things painful all around. The situation was getting worse, too; even as Cas’s body demanded more and more release, the exhaustion and depletion meant that he was requiring more and more time and effort to find that release, even with Dean trying to help by pulling out every trick he’d ever known, attempted, or overheard in skeevy locker room gossip.

“Okay, let me just…” Sitting up, Dean forestalled Cas’s attempt to push through the pain. Cas whimpered unhappily at being stopped, but he let Dean pull him into a deep kiss, pushing their bodies together and snaking his arms around to palm Dean’s ass. Taking advantage of the brief distraction as their lips moved against each other, Dean twisted their positions around and pushed Cas down onto his back.

By now, Dean’s jaw was growing nearly as sore as his ass, which was at least more evolved to handle taking an alpha’s cock over and over. Steeling himself against the ache, Dean licked up and down the sides of Cas’s cock as gently as he could before swallowing it down. As careful as he was trying to be, Cas still whined and thrashed his legs for a moment, before the burn transformed to pleasure. As Dean worked his mouth lower and lower with each bob of his head, drooling as he avoided sucking too hard and making things worse, he reached between his own legs to swipe his fingers around his hole, covering them in his slick.

At the first press of a finger against Castiel’s rim, Cas whined again, and Dean tensed nervously. The two of them were no strangers to switching, but there was always the risk that Cas’s inner alpha would take issue with being the one penetrated. A moment later, Cas was pushing down, encouraging more of the pressure, and Dean sighed in relief, quickly giving Cas what he was seeking. One finger became two, and Cas was moaning and tossing his head from side to side as his hips rocked forward into Dean’s mouth and back onto his hand.

On impulse (and in concession to the growing jaw pain), Dean pulled off Cas’s cock, planting an apologetic open-mouthed kiss to the head when Cas grunted in protest. He bent over the side of the bed and fumbled for the box with the lube and other supplies, finally grasping one of the Tenga eggs. “I spent good money on these, so we might as well use ‘em,” he said, grinning and flourishing it.

A few false starts later, once Dean had to admit defeat in his attempt to open and prep the egg with only one hand, he had his fingers back inside Cas’s ass and the stretchy egg gripping snugly around his cock. Castiel was panting and arching his back, mouth open and eyes screwed shut, as Dean twisted his fingers and zeroed in on his prostate without mercy. Meanwhile, he used the toy, which he’d practically filled to overflowing with the slippery lube, to provide Cas with as much chafe-free stimulation as he could.

It took much longer than it should have, but Dean’s work finally paid off. With a harsh cry, Cas suddenly went taut, coming so hard that the veins in the sides of his throat stood out against the paleness of his skin. It lasted for long moments, though the egg was more than able to contain the reduced volume of his actual release. Then Cas was collapsing back into the mattress, chest heaving, the lines of tension that had been creasing his brow finally relaxing more than they had in hours.

Dean carefully withdrew his fingers; Cas didn’t even react. Discarding the egg into the nearby trashcan and wiping his fingers negligently on the already destroyed bed linens, Dean dropped heavily onto the pillow beside Cas and joined him in a much-needed nap.

**MET 45:30**

Dean woke to the sound of Castiel’s voice in his ear. The world outside was dark again—what time was it? Did time even matter?—and he found himself struggling through a haze of extreme exhaustion to process why that sound was so remarkable.

“So perfect,” Cas said softly. His voice was cracking, raspy and painful sounding, but…oh, there it was, the reason why Dean’s own throat felt tight as he listened. For the first time since the rut had begun, Cas was sounding like _himself._ He was wrecked, depleted, and still a little flushed with desire beside all of that, but he was at least mostly coherent. “My perfect, beautiful, wonderful Dean. Can’t believe you’re _real,_ that I didn’t just dream you. Love you, love you so much. God, _Dean._ ”

The litany went on and on, with Dean unable to do more than blush and let Cas trace loving, delicate touches over every bruise and red mark along his body. Cas kissed the darkest bruises along his hips and thighs, lifting his slightly glassy blue eyes to gaze into Dean’s face as he did. In that moment, Dean felt _worshipped;_ he squirmed and bit his lip, awkward under the intensity of his mate’s focus.

Cas was hard again. Dean could feel it, burning against his thigh like a brand, and yet the urgency of the previous day was finally abating and becoming manageable once more. Cas lowered himself on the bed, not breaking eye contact for a second, and took Dean’s half-hard cock into his mouth. Dean shook and trembled, both from the sensations around his cock and from the heat in Cas’s eyes. Cas didn’t let up for a moment, taking Dean deep and holding him in his throat as he swallowed before pulling back upward to start over again. All the while, he never looked away once, until Dean was whispering his name and fisting the pillow beside his head as he came down his throat.

Pulling himself back up, Cas kissed Dean, slowly and thoroughly. Once his heart felt a little less like it would beat right through his rib cage, Dean shoved at Cas’s shoulder, grinning stupidly. “My turn,” he said, rolling them over and climbing across Cas’s lap with renewed energy.

**MET 53:10**

“Ugh, sun,” Dean mumbled.

“Shhh,” Cas said. “Go back to sleep.” Dean was happy to obey.

He woke again a little later, unsure how much more sleep he’d gotten, but he was sure it hadn’t been nearly enough. His eyes were crusted shut, and only a fraction of the now blinding sunlight was making it through his lids. Dean reached behind himself and had a moment of deja vu when he felt cold sheets once more.

He blinked and rubbed at his eyes, trying to make them focus so he could figure out the situation. The clock showed that it was nearly eight o’clock now, which was almost inconceivable. If he’d slept for that long, it could only mean that the end was within sight. The sound of the running shower seemed further proof, and Dean felt like laughing and crying simultaneously.

Tapping on the bathroom door to announce his arrival, Dean beamed at the sight of his mate squinting out from behind the curtain at him. “Feeling better?” Dean asked, leaning tiredly against the counter.

“Mmm, mostly,” Cas sighed, pulling his head back in and standing idly under the stream of water. “Still feel a bit on edge, but I’m so tired, it’s easier to ignore it.”

“I hear you,” Dean agreed fervently. He pulled back the edge of the curtain and, with effort, lifted one leg and then the other to step into the shower behind Cas. Ever the gentleman, Cas didn’t laugh at the sight, though the corners of his mouth quivered a hair. Dean smiled wryly, then reached for the bottle of soap. “Here, turn around.”

Using the slippery soap to aid his hands, he rubbed at Cas’s back, searching out the knots of tension that had grown over the previous days. There were many, and Cas groaned and jerked as Dean worked at them. When he finished, Dean pulled Cas backward against his chest and wrapped his arms around his waist, kissing his neck.

“I don’t think I have words to describe how I’m feeling toward you,” Cas said, voice thick with emotion.

“That’s fine,” Dean replied, shrugging. “If it’s anything like what I feel toward you most of the time, I’d probably blush and say something stupid if you tried.”

Cas aimed a gentle elbow at his ribs, giving him plenty of opportunity to avoid it, then turned and took Dean’s face between his hands, pressing their lips together in a sweet, gentle kiss. Smiling, he picked up the soap.

“No, don’t,” Dean immediately protested. “You’ve got to be beat. You don’t need to take care of me right now.”

“Actually, I think…I rather do,” Cas said, looking away with sudden shyness. “It’s a rut thing, I suppose. Part of me is convinced I need to take care of you, especially because, well…”

“Because you filled me up with a big old litter of your pups,” Dean finished, unable to hide his grin. Cas looked even more uncomfortable, and Dean reached for his chin, lifting it until he could catch his eyes. “You do what you need to do, and it’s _fine,”_ he said firmly. “And, hey. Maybe one of these days, it won’t be just a weird random biological urge. I can…I can imagine it, too.”

Cas didn’t reply, but his hands were reverent as they washed every inch of his mate’s body.

**MET 57:10**

“You know what I particularly regret? My rudeness over the sheets,” Castiel said, sipping at his third cup of coffee. He’d definitely need more than just a few caffeinated beverages to recover from the weekend, but the warm drink was also soothing for his throat, and it was mentally comforting to return to even the smallest of regular routines. “When I woke up this morning with a clearer head and saw what we’d done to the bed…” He shuddered.

“Something of a war zone,” Dean agreed. They had fans blowing now, trying to get air circulating so that either of them could enter the room without feeling overwhelmed.

“I think we’d definitely have needed a new mattress if you hadn’t thought ahead. Maybe even a new box spring as well.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, I like your memory foam mattress, but I’m pretty sure I don’t want it remembering me _that_ well.”

Cas laughed into his mug, and Dean relished the sound. He’d missed it, even before he’d found out what was going on in Cas’s head to make his mood tank so badly. There was still some tension there, though; perhaps unconsciously, Cas had shifted his chair a little closer to Dean than it usually sat, and his hand kept drifting to Dean’s arm, as though he was reassuring himself. Dean didn’t mention it, figuring it was the tail end of the hormones filtering through his system. He also hadn’t quite worked out how to check in on Cas’s mental state, with regards to all his fears and anxieties, without risking accidentally reminding him of things he’d been able to lay aside.

In hindsight, he shouldn’t have worried. Without the swirling torrent of chemicals, Cas was always much more forthright about confronting the things that bothered him. Now, looking pensive, he ran his free hand down Dean’s back, resting it above the curve of his ass. “I was rough with you,” he said quietly, slightly resigned.

“In the best of ways,” Dean said, trying for a lighthearted note.

“Dean—”

“Sorry, sorry,” Dean quickly apologized. “I swear, I’m not trying to be flip about it. You were rougher than usual, sure. But you weren’t…I mean, you didn’t cross any lines, if that’s what you’re thinking. You didn’t _hurt_ me.”

Something flashed in Cas’s eyes. Without warning, he used his thumb and middle finger to flick at Dean’s ass cheek. The swat he’d given him there during rut hadn’t been nearly enough to leave a bruise, but the tiny sting was enough to evoke the memory of the slap, and Dean nearly choked on his spit. Embarrassed, he tried to cover with an affronted scowl, which only served to make Cas _giggle._

“I’m sorry,” he managed to gasp around his amusement when Dean’s jaw dropped in surprise. “Just—your face.”

“Yeah, yeah, yuk it up,” Dean said, still trying to feign offense but swiftly losing the battle in the face of the contagious mirth. His lips twitched, and then he couldn’t hold back his own grin. It just felt too good, too cathartic, to resist enjoying the tiny joke at his own expense.

Eventually, when they were wiping the tears from their eyes, Dean cleared his throat. “I know you weren’t just worried about that, though. You weren’t just freaking over the thought of getting violent toward me. It was also you not wanting me to see that side of you, period. Now that it’s all over…” He paused, thinking, before finishing, “I want you to know that I stand by everything I said before. There’s not some kind of division between you and your inner alpha, with me being deeply in love with you and only just tolerating the inconvenient messy aspects. There’s just _you._ And I love all of you.”

Cas was still smiling, but it was a tremulous thing. He blinked rapidly, then plunked his mug down and climbed out of his chair, moving into Dean’s lap to kiss him soundly.  “You’re amazing,” he murmured against his lips. “I love you, too.”

“Course you do,” Dean replied. Then he winced uncomfortably. “But, uh, maybe we could take a raincheck on you sitting on me on wooden chairs for a couple days? It’s just…”

“Oh!” Cas practically levitated backward, hauling Dean to his feet and running solicitous hands over his rear. “I’m sorry, I should have—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Dean reassured him with a smile. “Like I said, I signed on for every bit of it.”

Cas sighed, embracing him and resting his forehead on Dean’s shoulder. “You did,” he agreed. “I’d love to show you just how much I appreciate that, but I hope you don’t mind that it might be a few days until I can do that without tears of pain.”

“Dude, I am so right there with you,” Dean groaned fervently. “G-rated cuddles for the next week.”

Cas nodded, smiling as he stepped back and turned toward the doorway, reaching for the watering can on the counter. “A good plan,” he said. “First, we heal up, and then we can have that conversation you mentioned. I have some ideas about paddles.” Dean’s splutters weren’t enough to drown the sound of laughter as Cas made his escape into the yard.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear God, eight thousand words of smut. I can't decide if I'm proud or embarrassed. As always, come find me on [Tumblr](http://carrieosity.tumblr.com) to tell me which one it should be.
> 
> Comments are love, like Dean's gonna love that new kink he found.

**Author's Note:**

> The rest of it will be up soon; have faith. :)


End file.
